Echoes of Ashener

by David Partelow

  Her savior knelt closer still. For an instant, Serra could see a mask obscuring his face. Breathing heavily, he placed a soothing hand on her forehead. In seconds a calm, persuasive energy flooded Serra’s head and pushed her further to unconsciousness. Before it did though, he finally spoke to her. How she had waited for this moment.

  “Hush. You’ve caused enough trouble for one night.” The voice had been cold and alien to her.

  Closing her eyes, Serra again found herself into a nothingness that at least allowed her to feel no pain, much less the anguish of knowing that she had been dead wrong about her savior.

  -16-

  So, it isn’t Norryn after all.

  The single thought brought Serra recklessly back into a state of consciousness. Instantly, her head throbbed. How long she had been out and what had transpired while she was asleep, Serra could not say. For some unknown reason she was warm, dry, and somehow feeling safe for the first time since, well since a long while to say the least.

  Slowly Serra’s eyes came into focus. Her surroundings were a company of shadows dancing around a point of hazy light. Further examination revealed an illuminus, a handy gadget from the regions of Axiter. An illuminus was no more than a foot long and two inches wide. But when it was activated, when its various chemicals were set to mix inside, it created a reaction that offered safe heat and light. It was much like having a convenient campfire minus the smoke and need for wood to burn. Serra used the light from the illuminus to examine her surroundings.

  The environment appeared to be a dreary cave, offering a faint, yet dank odor. Serra lifted herself up to find that she had been covered and there was another blanket folded up underneath her head as a pillow. Near her side were many of her things, including her supplies and the pistol that she had lost near her fallen horse. Serra was indeed surprised to see these things recovered.

  It was then that Serra noticed the sound of rain, hungry, ravenous, and was coming down in great torrents. The wind was also blowing fiercely and every few moments she could almost feel its frostiness as she drew herself from the covers. But Serra discovered that she was dry, warm, and comfortable. And as her mind found itself in full clearness again, she turned herself toward the cave’s mouth and faced the lone warrior that had saved her life.

  The warrior sat quietly upon the ground with his legs crossed at the mouth of the cave. Serra could tell that the entrance was small and located in such a way that you had to climb down to enter. He had covered the entrance with much of his cloak and guarded the door with grim silence. He was just enough away from the illuminus and close enough to the entrance that she knew he had to have been cold. But tranquil was his appearance, almost meditative, as Serra watched him with cautious eyes.

  Finally, Serra’s pupils targeted in on the details of her savior. In a moment she realized why it had been so difficult to make out his features earlier. His face had been completely shrouded in a Ro’Nihn’s mask and that mask covered much of the contours of his face, save for his chin and his mouth. As the masks were generally designed to conform to a Ro’Nihn’s face, it was safe for Serra to deduce that she did not know the man before her.

  With a growing, dismal acceptance, Serra realized more and more that this was not Norryn Ashener. She had held hope because something had made her believe that it was. She wondered now if it was because she so desperately wanted to believe. Serra remembered more of the night. It was the eyes. They are hazel, like Norryn’s. But unlike Norryn’s they lack his honest luster. There was no life in them, just a bitter determination of a soul that lives for duty and not for dreams.

  Still, Serra was determined to know her rescuer. Sitting up fully, she studied him with what light the illuminus conjured. The Ro’Nihn remained still with his neck slightly bent. Dark strands of long, black hair stood watch over his mask and near his eyes. He wore a black sleeveless shirt and pants and his chest and forearms were garbed in an intense blue of Axiter armor, as were the boots that ended just below his knees.

  Serra knew these colors well. The combination of black clothes and blue armor were the tell-tale sign of the Jacoi clan. Serra deduced that this stranger had to be related to Wyndall in some way, though she did not know how. Wyndall was warm and friendly, traits that this fellow before her sorely lacked. Still she continued her observation.

  The Ro’Nihn’s skin was light but not pale and looked like someone who did not receive much sun. Though his arms were not large, it was clear they possessed strength. There was muscle to be seen where his flesh was not covered in clothing or armor. Lying parallel in front of him was the well-crafted staff he had used to free Serra. But what really called her home was the fact that this warrior looked no older than she was.

  Still, the Ro’Nihn said nothing as he continued his meditative trance. Serra thought that meditation was supposed to bring happiness or contentment. This young man’s face was far away from either one of those feelings. She could feel nothing from him in terms of emotions. With most people she could at least feel, well something at least. It was not the case here, and his emotions easily eluded Serra’s probing.

  Well, I guess it doesn't matter what his manner is. I still owe him my life, thought Serra as she placed herself in a sitting position. She realized suddenly she hadn’t the foggiest notion what to say. Yes, Serra was grateful, for he had saved her from a fate likely worse than death. She just didn’t understand why he had to be so cold. Whatever the hostility stemmed from, Serra would try to get to the bottom of it.

  Serra cleared her throat. She knew he had to have heard it, but he continued to pay her no mind. Serra had never met a Ro’Nihn of Axiter who had acted in such a way. Sure, they came in all forms and fashion, but something about this one was quite deliberate. No matter the circumstances, to act in such a way was just plain rude in Serra's summation. It was then that she decided to set the right example from then on.

  “Thank you, for saving me,” she said. Her words were slow, deliberate, and the feeling in them was genuine.

  He said nothing to this. In fact, he did not even acknowledge that it was heard by his ears. His face looked the same still, somehow seething, yet also impassive.

  Serra pressed on. “I owe you my life and more, I’m sure. Who knows what they would have done to me.” Serra was trying to keep calm, but the silence was beginning to annoy her. She just wanted something, anything from the Ro'Nihn. She began to feel anger toward his indifference.

  And yet again, there was nothing. He sat unmoving as the patterns of his blue and black mask seemed to blend in on itself in the soft light. Only his breathing admitted openly that he was alive to hear any of her words. Beyond him, the rain beat down with reckless fury as thunder announced its presence. It was more than Serra could take.

  “You know you could say something, anything, in fact.” Serra let the sentence out in a frustrated exhale.

  “That was a stupid thing that you did back there,” he said finally. His voice was grave, humorless. As he continued, he finally raised his head and looked at Serra. “From the stories I have heard of you, I would have expected you to act smarter.”

  Color rose to Serra's cheeks as she met his angered gaze. His eyes were of a similar shade as her childhood friend's, but these were not the eyes of Norryn Ashener. To Serra, this Ro'Nihn's irises were pure night’s fire. Serra’s steel was bolstered by the anger swelling within her. “So, you know who I am. Well, there’s half the battle fought at least. Now may I know the name of the one who ridicules me so easily? You speak darkly for an Axiter Ro’Nihn and you pass judgment on someone you know not at all. So, spare the lecture, please, I don’t need it hammered home with a mallet.”

  He passed easily by her reply. “Oh, I believe you do. The mallet approach is the only way you might avert such a fate in the future. Case in point, you have a sound head on your shoulders, or so I’ve heard, and still here we are in this cave in the pouring rain lucky to be alive. And you want to know what the worst part about it is? You
are going to do it again, as many times as it takes until you find what you are looking for or are killed in the process.” His words were laced with fire as they flew from his lips.

  The truth and the relentless way it was delivered put Serra quickly on the defensive. She again absently brushed away strands of hair from her face. “You don’t know me, not even in the slightest, so don’t think for a minute that you do.” She had not meant to say that, but she was powerless to stop it from etching from her lips.

  Distant, dark eyes bore into her. It was like he had opened the cover to her soul, and she felt powerless to stop it. “I think I do, for your drive is legendary. If I were to let you leave this instant, you would go back to where I found you and do it all again. And you would continue until death claimed you because in your heart, you believe that strongly. It defeats your better judgment, and you would cling to it with your last breath. You expected no one else to believe what it is you believe so you came here alone, disregarding mind you, the fact that you would have endangered those who were certain to come looking for you. So, let me ask you this, how much would you sacrifice in your search?”

  The Ro'Nihn's words stabbed deeply, for Serra had never looked at it like that. She had nothing to say in her defense. Her own words sounded hallow in her heart, but stubbornly they left her lips. “I don't want anyone’s help. And I didn’t call for yours either.”

  The Ro’Nihn nodded. “I’m well aware of that. I heard you. Norryn is the name you called. But your mind sent the message loud enough that any sentient being with half a brain or the desire to listen would have heard it. So, you did not want my help, that’s fine. But had I not helped, just where do you think you would be right now? My company is cold yes, but I can assure you that there is a group of dead soldiers you may have found much colder.”

  At that, Serra felt the traces of fingertips forced upon her body. The memory lingered savagely, sending new chills of disgust washing over her. She could see clearly that she was going to grow tired of this warrior being right. Still, she had to ask. “So how did you hear me? I have no gifts such as the ones you surely boast.”

  The young Ro’Nihn before her tilted his head to the side as his eyes most assuredly summed her up. She hated how he looked at her. It wasn’t desire or disgust, nor was it even contempt. The look was downright indifference. His eyes contained no passion, just harsh calculation of a man who had seen and experienced enough to hold a soul many years older than its worth. What Serra saw was someone who held himself in perfect, rigid control, like a dreamer without dreams or a fighter with no cause. This likely made him more dangerous than even he realized.

  Again, he responded to her. There was just enough emotion in his voice for Serra to know he was not being condescending, though it was close. “You’re not as weak spiritually as you think. Hearing you and sensing them was neither difficult nor requiring great skill. I was only doing my duties.”

  “Does doing your duty mean setting such a fine diplomatic example for the rest of the clan of the Jacoi?” She had hoped the knowledge would at least catch him off guard and show Serra some spark of emotion.

  She found herself flustered and disappointed yet again. “No, Ms. Landring, that particular part is my choice. I could no sooner change it than you abandon reckless emotion for reason and sensibility. I guess, in a nutshell, we both have a problem.” With a swift, fluid motion he was on his feet. Removing his cape from the entry, he repositioned it on his back and had his staff in hand without a single thought. Blood and anger cascaded over Serra’s cheeks completely. Before she could retort he was out into the rain. “Rest yourself, for when night falls, I can assure you the journey will be a long one.” Quickly he was gone into the cool, raging rivulets of pouring rain.

  Serra could contain herself no longer. Releasing frustrated breaths, she threw rocks and whatever else she could get her hands on toward the cave entrance. She could not believe her luck. Why had she been saved by someone who obviously cared so little about anything, but mostly himself? She knew there was something special to this warrior, though she did not know what it could be. Whatever it was, he distanced himself away from it thoroughly. No man, not even Vonack had infuriated her so much, though how he had succeeded in this, Serra could not say.

  With fleeting, futile breaths, Serra tried anxiously to calm herself, but it was no use. When it came to her thoughts and her heart, she felt naked now. To be so revealing to someone that cold was disconcerting. The only person she was comfortable being so open with was Norryn. To be read so easily by a stranger made her feel more than exposed. It meant that somehow, she must have had some connection with this Ro'Nihn. To have such a connection with such a man, damn the luck! I bet I am assured a long, quiet and unpleasant journey back to Rahn.

  Laying back down and willing herself back to sleep, Serra would later realize just how right she had been in her assumption, at least the long, quiet, and unpleasant part.

  A few hours later, as shadow once again caressed the land in darkness, Serra found herself back into the night. The chill in her bones was compounded by the fact that the ground was still profusely wet. The rain had stopped completely and the remaining clouds that bickered in the sky were too spent for any more mischief. Serra was grateful for that. Looking at her companion, Serra realized that very deeply she wanted to be grateful for something.

  Since they had ventured from their hiding spot, the Ro’Nihn had said nothing and still she did not know his name. As they walked in silence, his eyes paid her no mind. It was not that he did not acknowledge her existence, but rather, he seemed annoyed at even the notion of glimpsing her being. Serra could not recall a time that any person in her life had ever treated her in this way. Sure, Vonack teased and tormented her when she was young, but at least he had a reason for his actions. Serra had never been regarded in such a way by a stranger before.

  Serra pulled at the blanket lingering on her shoulders. Her shoes were damp, and a chill had found its way into her bones. Still keeping pace with the Ro'Nihn was enough to keep her mind off the cold. From under the hood of his cloak he walked on at a relentless pace, though making very little sound at all. Sometimes he would stop to smell the air or look about. In his hand was that beautiful staff that he had used to save her. Already he had cleaned off from it the last traces of caked blood.

  Every now and again, the silence would overwhelm Serra. “Where are we heading?” she would ask.

  “You’ll see,” was always his reply.

  And so, they marched on.

  Just as the first traces of morning hinted at the horizon, they reached their destination. The Ro’Nihn led her to an outcropping of rock next to a small stream. As she watched the young warrior went toward a large mound between two larger boulders embedded into the Earth. Before Serra thought of asking, the truth was revealed to her. The mound was a cleverly designed cover masking its contents underneath. Beneath the makeshift tarp was a hovercycle ready to take them from this place.

  Hitting a button on the panel the young warrior took a step back as the cycle engaged and came to life. Rising, it hovered roughly two feet from the ground as he led it from the boulders with its steering handles. After giving it a cursory check, the Axiter native hopped on the cycle with ease, readying it for travel. When all else had been completed, the Ro'Nihn finally fixed his gaze upon Serra. The indifference there was still maddening to her. “Are you coming?”

  Serra said nothing as she placed herself on the cycle behind him. The thought of having to hold onto him for the duration of travel was more than she cared for. She resigned herself quickly to the notion. Serra had never been on a cycle such as this. Without knowing how, she knew that this cycle was well constructed and would be faster than anything she had ever traveled on before.

  Her anonymous savior went through a few adjustments and in moments Serra knew they were ready to travel. Using his feet, he backed the cycle out so that they could depart. Just as Serra thought they were leaving, the you
ng warrior placed two fingers to his mouth, letting out a sharp, short whistle. “Bryndan!”

  From a little crevice underneath some rock not too far away bounded a little furry creature from its hiding place. To Serra’s surprise, he headed right for the cycle. She really couldn’t call its pace a run. It was more like an ambling hop. As it neared, she could hear little excited grunts. Serra had never seen anything like it before, as it resembled a large weasel. The creature’s eyes revealed intelligence, and it was larger than a cat or a small dog.

  Before Serra could ask any questions, the animal hopped up and fit himself to the little storage area behind where Serra sat. He was an almost perfect fit. So that is what he keeps there, she thought. Watching the small creature Bryndan, Serra did not notice as the young Ro'Nihn reached behind to cover up his pet. The inside of his arm contacted with her stomach, and she jumped a bit. Bryndan paid no mind to being covered as he curled up in order to make himself more comfortable.

  The Ro'Nihn could see he had startled Serra. For the first time since she met him his words were not harsh or cold. “You don’t have to be frightened anymore.”

  Playing with her hair she tried to cover up her surprise at the change in his voice. “Oh, I wasn’t. It just tickled is all.” The Ro’Nihn said nothing as he turned his masked face back around to the front. Serra wanted badly for more of that side of him to come out, but also she did not want to push him. She could not explain why, she just enjoyed seeing any traces of his humanity. “What is Bryndan?”

  Without turning, he spoke. “He’s my friend and has been so for years now. He’s what you would call a ferret, though he is the biggest breed I’ve ever seen. Perhaps he is a hybrid of his species, I can’t say.” He turned his head back and looked over Serra’s shoulder. “We’ve company, Bryndan. Behave yourself and you can meet her later.” At the use of his name and the tone of the warrior’s voice Bryndan acknowledged with a few rebellious, consenting grunts from under his blanket. “If he gets restless, just pet him behind his neck. He doesn’t like to ride for long periods of time.”